


Does Obsession Ever Really Fade?

by esotericisms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Also Vincent goin through mental health shit, Angst, F/M, Fugue and Niko aren't mine btw, Gen, Implied violence?, Probably semi-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8305340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esotericisms/pseuds/esotericisms
Summary: Vincent pining after Sil again, in his own fucked up way. Is this canon? Idk. Probably sorta.





	

To some extent, Vincent knew that something had changed. Something crucial. Something drastic. Some way about him that, despite his feeble hold on any sort of real power, at least had made him feel like he was something, or someone. It was something stupid, he knew. And, maybe ultimately useless. But, at least, it was a way to pass the time. Something to numb the mind, and keep him moving. Keeping himself entertained, even if only in the most banal of ways.

To him, that was everything. All that he had ever learned. All that he had ever known.

Yet, things like that don’t last forever. And as the sound of the record started to fade, suddenly there was nothing but static. A dull numbing in his brain, keeping him drifting in and out of longing. In and out of regret, and sorrow, and hate, and pleasure, and yearning. And all those things that, despite witnessing over and over, he had never once known so intimately. Emotions flooding, crashing into him and rolling around his body in tidal waves, his mind a vast and sunken sea. Until, finally, he thought of nothing else.

And as the record finally came to a close, and even those remnants of white noise had finally dissipated, dear Vincent had, despite everything, and all that he had struggled for, only one thing left, still yet to cease.

Yearning.

A deep, soul-wrenching ache, wrapping around him.

And though he tried to grasp, clutching vaguely at simple scraps, there was inevitably nothing. Not a single thing, not ever, that had truly belonged to him.

Still, though. He had to cling to something. Someone, anyone. But who was there? He had no one. Not Fugue. Fugue was long gone by now, the thing that had torn him up so beautifully and wretchedly, planting that seed. Their substitute, the boy? Niko? No longer an option, now.  
Hardly anyone caught his eye. Nor could anyone. The uninvited, yet strangely popular guest wasn’t much now, his true colors revealed, then soon torn into naught but vague shreds of his old self. His old hobbies soon drifted, the old excitement dull, and that blood sport of his now much too dry for his liking. All he had were the old records, classics. Yet, they all seemed the same, every old and familiar song blending together in his loneliness. 

But, still. There was something. There had to be something. Some old spark to reignite him, return his vigor. He knew. He could do nothing but know. As the small flame began to flicker in his chest, he asked himself, what was it that made his heart begin to burn again?

Her.

It could only be her.

It had to be her.

How is that he’d never realized? 

That all this time, this whole entire time, he knew exactly what it was that he’d wanted. No, that he needed. Everything that he’d struggled for, everything that he’d fought for, had led up to this one singular moment, this one epiphany of his. All the burning in his chest, and his innumerable scars and gashes, every bit of blood that had trickled down …

It was all for this.

Even when he’d told himself he hated her, loathed her, despised her, he had thought of her. His mind, reaching for straws, grasping at ways to enclose her. Break her in. Make her his.  
Maybe today he’d tease her, he’d thought. Tomorrow, a bit more cruelty. Make her feel something horrible, rancid. Make her bleed, make her cry, make her scream, make her beg. Tear her up and listen to the way she sobs on those nights, those nights when she thinks no one else is near. Make her into a game. Let her know what it really feels like.

Yet, now … Now, it felt different, somehow.

No, or maybe it was always like this? This longing?

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he cared, either.

But, what was there to do? He had no clear answer, only the things he felt. The longing to get close. To see, to smell, to touch.  
But, when would that be? It couldn’t be just any time. There were risks. Her, running from him. And then, of course, him. The meddlesome fuck. And, that one? The half-dead kid. The one he killed. No. No fucking way he was going to risk that. Whatever that was. Is.

No, he would have to be smart about this. Get her somewhere secluded, unsuspicious. Without interference.

Wait. What about the party? There were always one of those, and he’d rarely seen her miss one too—though he doubted that was her choice. And, he’d had at least some connections, although they hadn’t exactly spoken in some time, so it was possible that he could reserve a private room. If so, then …

Yes …

Yes, this was starting to make some sense to him, now. Just a little bit longer, just a bit of a wait, and for once, things would go his way.

… Assuming that everything works out, of course.


End file.
